Mission Collapse
by Straying Life
Summary: Young soldier orphans are eventually killed to keep the world in balance. But one orphan, Danny Fenton, is on the run for his family. And soon enough, his new civilian life draws him inexplicably back to the orphanage—and all the danger it holds for him.


Unlike most of my stories, MC chapter 1 was started, then I realized that the whole flashback-then-present style didn't work here. So I just made a prologue! This is why there is no summary here. And it's a rather long prologue. Most chapters actually won't be this long. I hope. Pfff…

DISCLAIMER: I do not own DP. But this is such an AU, I could simply make it my very own with a few changes of names. And Protra isn't mine, either; it's part of a username of an Amity Slash RP-er. Also, the names of the orphanages here (Santa Clara and Clarissa Frayne) are not mine. They are the names of Nancy Farmer and Eoin Colfer's creations, respectively, that I drew from the deep reaches of my mind.

RATED: T for mild violence.

Prologue

"Incomplete Assignments"

As a young boy, Danny could remember. He could remember his parents and his sister very clearly. They lived in a nice, roomy home in the middle of a sort of town-city. Not a town, not a city. He had his own room with a crib in it. It was baby blue. His sister, Jazmine, had her own room, painted a light pastel pink. It was very fuzzy. He didn't like it much.

He much preferred his parents' room. It was a darker blue than his, with a comfortable, cushy twin bed. He loved cuddling between the two at night. But he also remembered there was a lack of food and clothes sometimes. They had to sell things like the TV, and the couch.

And then one day, his parents took him out of the house. It was rare that this happened. They didn't have enough money to pay for gas, but they still went on a trip. Without Jazz, which was even weirder.

They took him to a cold, grey building. He didn't like it much. He liked his pretty blue room much more. But he kept quiet. His mother fondled him, her red hair and teal eyes affectionate. Sorta like Jazz's. And then Jack encouraged the small two-and-a-half year old, telling him to be all that he could be. Confused, Danny nuzzled further into his mother's bosom.

And then he was torn from his comfortable hiding place, the touch of the blue hazmat suit disappearing. He reached for his mother, not expecting large, cold hands to grab his abdomen. He squeaked in shock, staring in fear at the stranger. He smiled but he emanated danger.

Those were the few things he remembered of his family before Santa Clara.

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He was five years old when he was given a number. It was the biggest honor any soldier-in-training could receive. His number was 13784. Danny loved it with all his heart, but he still preferred using his own name. The trainers didn't. They addressed him only as 13784. Danny—now 13784—was not all that great at any of his fighting. He always improvised and still only won by a fraction of an inch. And he would always return beaten and bloody not from his opponents, but rather from the trainers.

He passed by one of the older soldiers, a current captain with an actual duty around Santa Clara. He had this amazing air about him as he walked, his shoulders evenly moving with large, bulky armour over it and his eyes hard behind the mission lens. 13784 still had to receive even the most basic armour and did not yet have implants in his brain for the mission lens. He worshipped the captain.

"Hey, Johnny?" asked 13784 one day, struggling to keep up with the captain. The older 16-year-old kept walking, ignoring the boy.

"Um…11542?" asked 13784, uncomfortable with the captain's number. But 11542 stopped.

"Yes?" he asked gently, his voice slightly shaking.

"I was hoping you could give me some help…see, I'm not good at all with fighting. Can you give me a few tips?" he asked timidly. 11542 grinned weakly.

"All I can say is try hard and remember everything. And no matter what they say, what they tell you, never complete your duty. Never." 11542 started to walk away, leaving 13784 in stunned silence.

"WAIT!" he cried. 11542 stopped and turned around.

"Yeah?" 13784 could've sworn that 11542 was crying.

"What's going on?"

11542 took in a shuddery breath. "13784, I trust you to not say anything. Don't tell anyone at all. Where I'm going is where all soldiers go when their duty ends. Don't EVER let your duty end."

"What happens?" asked 13784 curiously.

"You…you die." 13784 fell silent.

"When you get a duty, don't ever let it end. And if it does, run. Run for your life. And remember, don't tell anyone. Don't tell anyone at all, Danny, okay?" 13784 nodded in numb shock; he had called him 'Danny.' He hadn't been called that since his parents left him here. And 11542 left, the air of authority there but dampened by the news he had received.

When he was sure 11542 wasn't looking at him, he raced down the hall in his direction, passing all the doors blindly. They were nothing more than blurs now. The only one that mattered was the one that 11542 was going into.

He finally came to an end. The door loomed over him, proudly declaring the number. "Duty Reassignment," it said. If what 11542 was right, then all 13784 could think was _Duty Reassignment my butt!_

He pressed against the narrow glass panes in the door. 11542 was being tied to a chair. Even now, 11542 didn't scowl. He only kept his respective look on his face. Even now, 13784 cried for him yet he respected him.

"Jonathan Timothy Protra," said the voice, one of the trainers. "Your duty has been completed." 11542's stare did nothing. "You have a new one now."

13784 continued staring through the glass windowpane, hoping that no one noticed him yet.

"Your new duty will be completed quickly. And it is your last one. We will make it quick," said the trainer casually as if it was a conversation on the weather, "But I can't guarantee it will be painless."

Two more trainers came out. One took hold of 11542's right arm and peeled off all armour covering it while the other brought out a needle.

"Lethal injection. You'll be dead within the next seven seconds."

As the second man pushed the needle into the crook of 11542's arm, the victim directed his eyes to the door. More specifically, the boy behind the door.

13784 gasped. 11542 glanced at him as he was about to die. And smiled. Weakly, but he smiled. And then he fell limp. 13784 stood there shaking for a second, but then realized that the men were leaving. At that point, 13784 turned on his heels and ran as fast as his little five-year-old body could carry him. He was running. Running for his life. But he didn't have a duty yet.

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It had been three months since 13784 had spoken to 11542, three months since his death. And he still had nightmares about it every single night. But for that, he worked hard towards his goal, towards the future.

The trainer had paired them off. He used to say the code 13784 in disappointment but now said it with pride. He grinned as he used the number.

"13784 is paired off with…13792." 13792 approached. He was a dark skinned boy his own age. He wore broken glasses since Santa Clara wouldn't provide him with new ones. Besides, when he got the mission lens, he wouldn't need them.

"Hey."

"Hey," said 13784, directing his eyes downward.

"You're that kid who always wakes up screaming in bed." 13784 looked up.

"How do you know?"

"I'm the one sleeping under you."

"Oh…sorry."

"I'm Tucker. Sorry, sorry," he cried, realizing his blunder. "I mean 13792!"

"I'm Danny. Or 13784." He grinned.

"ALL RIGHT BEETLES!" cried the trainer. "BEGIN ONE-ON-ONE COMBAT!" 13784 and 13792 exchanged glances.

"Just for now?" asked 13792.

"Just for now."

Swiftly, 13784 sent a punch to 13792's stomach. 13792 blocked it and mimicked the move. 13784 ducked and kicked at the same time, tripping 13792. Soon they were both on the ground. Determined to win, to keep his promise to 11542, 13784 was up again on his toes. 13792 was not that fast, but it was a moral virtue to let the opponent at least get up and have a fair chance to fight before continuing. So he waited. And soon, 13792 was up again.

13792 hesitated, allowing 13784 to continue. He jabbed at 13792's jaw. 13792 dodged, but 13784 sent a fist to the chest, sending 13792 to the floor. He didn't move.

"13792?" No response. But a groan. "Oh no, I'm sorry!"

The trainer walked up, expressionless.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt him, I mean—!" stuttered 13784. But to his surprise, the trainer grinned wide.

"Good job, beetle. I didn't expect you to win. Keep fighting like this, and you'll be the youngest kid in history to get his duty!"

But 13784 wasn't so sure he wanted that.

And just like that, with a compliment and encouragement, the trainer walked off. He was the same one who gave 11542 the injection.

13784 turned away and helped 13792 up, who was now clutching his chest and grinning weakly.

"H-Hey…you're a good fighter."

"Um…thanks."

"I'd much rather be a monitor."

Monitors were the people who kept track of vital stats of every soldier through their mission lens. They also kept track of how the mission was going and could give advice here and there. They were last resort physical-fighting soldiers.

"Sounds cool." 13792 grinned. 13784 followed suit.

"You fought well, too, 13792."

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13784 was eleven years old. He was also a lieutenant. 13792 was not, but in both of their opinions, should have been. He wasn't that good a fighter, but as a quick monitor-test showed, 13792 could hack into even the FBI's computers. Eleven was the age at which mission lens and duties were given.

"13784!" called one of the trainers, pulling the boy out of the endless line into the Duty Reassignment room. The room where soldiers were killed.

"Beetle, we're going to give you you're duty. I'm sure you've heard of them." 13784 nodded. "You have to fulfil your duty to the best of your ability and then when it is over, you'll be called back into this room and given a new one."

13784 looked down at his boots and nodded. He couldn't bear to look the trainers in the eyes as they spewed out these lies.

"What we'll have to do is give you brain sensors for your mission lens. Sit still, or it'll be very painful." 13784 was led to a chair. He leaned back, nervous. The doctors here killed soldiers, for God's sake! He didn't trust them with his brain. But he had already assessed the room, and there was no easy escape.

13784 was given anaesthetic as the doctors worked on his brain. They placed a sensor in every section of his brain applying to the mission lens. All in all, seven sensors were implanted. Then, they activated the sensors with the mission lens and attached the mission lens to his ear, the curve of it accustomed perfectly. It sat gingerly, nestled in front of his eye.

It took about another fifteen minutes for 13784 to wake up, finding the trainers in front of him. Half of his vision was darker than the other. What was going on? Was he half-dead already?! Oh no, what had they done!

"What's going on here?" he asked fearfully, jolting forward unusually fast. Then his vision reverted to normal. What looked like half a pair of sunglasses fell from his right ear onto his lap.

"Oh."

Just the mission lens. It had gone fine. Thank God.

"Glad to see you're up, beetle."

"Same here," muttered 13784 under his breath.

"Now, we are in the midst of a resource war." 13784 was well-aware. He had learned in his Conflict Education class. "And we are quickly being demolished."

_By who, you or the other side? _thought 13784 dryly.

"We need more soldiers. So you are being sent into the field as lieutenant."

"WHAT?" 13784 couldn't suppress himself. "No one gets out into any kind of conflict until age thirteen!"

"Well, congratulations, you're ahead of the game, beetle," said the trainer dismissively. 13784 sulked. "And thus, you need a full set of armour instead of the half-set most eleven-year-olds get." 13784 looked up again. Before him was a complete set of armour hanging on the wall as if the soldier himself was pinned up to the wall invisible.

"This," said the trainer, pointing to a black neckband with a small metal bump in the front of it, "is your face shield. It's not that hard to activate. You just pull the plastic up," he continued, demonstrating, "and it'll come up." The metal was actually plastic, unfolding smoothly to fit over the entire face, stretching over the chin using some black latex. "It's Teflon coated, so no bullets will be coming at you. Not even Teflon bullets." 13784 nodded, learning of Kevlar and Teflon and the such in his Firearms class. "Push down on the top of it and it'll go back to a neckband."

"Next piece," he said, pointing to a set of shoulder pads. They were made mainly of rough fabric, but on the actual shoulders metal was drilled in. "These are your shoulder pads. Fit them over your head and tie it up, because the collar of the pads is Kevlar weaved. It could save your life." 13784 nodded.

"Chest plate," said the trainer, pointing now to a strange object fanning out to the same area as what appeared to be the crook of the arms. It was made of rough fabric as well with metal attached to it. It tied at the front. "Thick. Covers more area if you're shot. If it passes through the armour—and there's about a zero per cent chance of it—then you won't be killed because the bullet will pass through harmlessly and fall out in the area between you and the armour." 13784 highly doubted it, but he nodded nevertheless.

"Regulation arm protection," said the trainer, now pointing to the left arm. It was covered in black latex undoubtedly made mostly of Kevlar with curved black metal covering the biceps and triceps, ending at the crook of the arm. At the other end, gloves started. They stretched a bit further to offer protection to the latex covered areas, the metal wrapping around itself like a roll of paper. The metal went down to the wrist, where it was latex again. Then more metal on the back of the hands. The rest of the glove was all latex. 13784's eyes goggled at the detail.

"Latex where there are joints so you can bend your arms and hands. More Kevlar. It's self-explanatory, the arms," said the trainer casually. He then moved his hand to the waist.

"Waist protection," he sighed. There was fabric again, but this time a sandy brown. Probably dunked in Kevlar as well. It wrapped around the whole body, attaching with a stronger version of Velcro. "Since your waist is always bending, we couldn't place armour there. So it's just Kevlar. This is your weak point. Don't get shot here." 13784 nodded; the weak spot stuff made sense.

"Next, leg armour," said the trainer, pointing to another sort of metal that fanned out. Halfway through, it had a hinge on both the front and back. It didn't cover the whole of the legs, either; it only covered the outer areas. And there was no latex here, either. "Fanned out to cover more area. The hinges are for your knees. The inside isn't covered because during stake-outs, you would make noise with the metal against itself."

"What's the…the belt thingy on it?" asked 13784 for the first time. He finally registered the mission lens in his lap and attached it again.

"Ah, yes, good point, beetle," said the trainer. "The belt is for holding important items, such as weapons, first aid, and monitor contact.

"And what about the regulation fabric? There's no latex there."

"Another good point. It is actually safe to wear any fabric whatsoever as pants as long as at least three-fourths of it is made of Kevlar. Wear pants only. However, the pants absolutely MUST be tucked into the boots."

"And what about the boots?"

"The boots," said the trainer, pointing at the footwear, "have an extremely custom design." They were made of latex for comfort, but again woven with Kevlar. The ankle up had metal attached with another layer of metal fanning out to the same length as where the boot was. There was more metal covering the front of his foot, then ending in front of his toes where there was latex again. Then more metal to the tip of the boot. The soles were made of a special, rubber-foam combination. "The metal is obviously protection. The latex in front of the toes is so that you have flexibility there. The soles are specially made to compress between pressure to reduce noisiness. You can run on hardwood flooring and steel and you still won't be able to hear yourself."

"So that's my armour?" asked 13784.

"You got it."

It was so complex! He wasn't sure if he'd be able to get dressed in the mornings with all of this on! He wasn't sure if he could even move in it!

"You will receive four months more training in addition to get used to the armour and mission lens. You will have private tuition for longer hours. I suggest you get moving, lieutenant 13784."

13784 sprang from the seat, took the armour and put it into a box, grabbed it in his arms, and walked out.

"Hey, 13792," he said. 13792 grinned.

"How'd it go?"

"Okay. Good luck in there, by the way." And with that, 13784 ran down the hall to his dormitory.

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"13784!" yelled his personal trainer, Ronald. "I want you to take out all the L-drones in under five minutes!"

L-drone was shortened from 'liquid drone.' Encased in plastic, the thick liquid was specifically created for hand-to-hand training. One use of a gun and the plastic would explode. Of course, humans didn't work like that. But it was scientifically proven that once an L-drone was done with, so was a human.

13784 glared at the scene. There were at least eight L-drones. And it took a long while to completely defeat an L-drone. At least he'd gotten used to the armour now…

"Are you insane? I'm only human!" he shouted back.

"Learn not to be, then!" shouted Ronald. 13784 grimaced. "GO!"

The boy rushed to the first L-drone. He began punching in several places, knowing that eventually the liquid rushing into so many places at once would cause a concentration and make the L-drone expand. A final kick to the 'gut' of it would cause it to explode. Jumping back to the next one behind him, he heard the wet explosion as he used his own methods mixed with his training to triumph over the L-drones. When it was all done and said at 4:52, Ronald came out, his face by now the colour of a beet.

"13784! What was that?"

"Me kicking the living liquid out of eight L-drones," replied the soldier smugly.

"That was completely unorthodox!" he shouted back. Then he sighed. "What am I going to do with you?" His trainer's cruel personality returned as he brought out twenty-two targets at odd reaches of the huge room.

"I want you to specifically knock out the left eye on every single one of them! I give you thirty-five seconds! GO!"

13784 reached for the first gun that sprang to mind. He wasn't bothered with remembering the name since in the actual Resource War, he wouldn't be screaming, "Where did my MP5K go?!"

It was, he noticed, the MP5—the 'big brother' of the MP5K—he had grabbed hold of. Regardless of the gun he was using, he would shoot every single target in the needed place.

13784 zoomed in with his mission lens to the targets all over the room and began shooting the left eye of every single one of them. He spotted a target shaped like Ronald himself. 13784 grinned and shot 4 bullets at that target. Then, all of them were down and Ronald came out again, not even bothering to scold the boy.

"If you're so cocky in these exercises, I suppose you're ready for Resource War simulations." 13784's smug attitude disappeared. "Yes, that's right. You're going to be fighting living, thinking simulations with real monitors in a real simulated environment. And while we're at it, I think I'll put you in as a colonel with a team of soldiers at your command." Ronald grinned, his horribly misshapen teeth showing. 13784 grinned again, looking wise through the mission lens.

"Bring it on, old man." Ronald's grin disappeared now, shocked at the insult.

"Go in, already!" he screeched. Running, 13784 laughed as he disappeared into the simulation room.

"Simulation please?" asked a voice from a speaker. A monitor was recording his voice waves for the simulation and the rest of the team would set it up.

"Resource War simulation, position of colonel with a twelve-man team, border surrounding, um…30-man opponents."

The monitor called up the proper files for the request, set them up, and said into the speaker himself, "Files set, be prepared to join in with a monitor." 13784 nodded.

"Hello?" said a voice in 13784's ear.

"Hello?" he replied.

"13784? Is that you?"

"13792? This is great!" the boy laughed. "Set me up with the mission lens simulation setting."

"All right…hold on…"

Soon the sight before 13784 became a rocky desert with twelve other random soldiers standing beside him. In front of them was a rocky ditch and at the bottom behind a line of their own rocks were their thirty opponents, all armed.

In his ear, 13792 whistled. "Ronnie going tough on ya?"

"Yeah. First simulation."

"Even worse. All right, start, I'll be monitoring every single step."

"And that's why you're the monitor."

"Ee-yep."

13784 motioned for the other soldiers to lean against the rocks, unreachable. He leaned in and then so did the others. 13792 was doing a great job with their reactions so far.

"Aim and shoot. No strategy. If I yell 'buzzard' duck under the rocks and prepare for more plans. Got it?" The others nodded. "All right, let's go, and keep your face shields up at all times."

13784 popped up with his arms on the rock and his face shield up, reaching for the specially manufactured unloaded gun. He cocked it and aimed, zooming in three times the normal vision. He pulled the trigger with the end of it pointed at a group of boys hiding cowardly behind a rock.

One by one, he repeated the process until every boy was terminated. Not every single one of them would go down like that. 13784 grinned.

"We both know your family would be proud of you," quipped 13792. Immediately, 13784's smile disappeared. No, he didn't know. And he was sure he wouldn't know anytime soon, either.

Prologue

Chapter 1: workin' on it!

Ugh…seven pages, people! Seven. But this is the main part of 13784's childhood. So that's why it's so long. Yep.


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